Personal Space
by probablyquantum
Summary: After the incident at the pool, Sherlock and John renegotiate the rules governing personal space. John/Sherlock  pre-? slash. Fluff. One-shot.


**Title:** **Personal Space**

**Author:** probablyquantum

**Fandom: **BBC Sherlock (TV)

**Pairing: **Sherlock/John

**Rating: **PG

**Category: **Pre-Slash; Romance and/or friendship; Fluff.

**Summary: **Sherlock and John renegotiate the rules about personal space. Fluffy John/Sherlock pre-slash. One-shot.

**Disclaimer:** I am unaffiliated with the BBC TV show "Sherlock." This story is not written for profit, and it constitutes fair use.

**Author's Note: **This story is inspired by the numerous "Sherlock and/or John has a bad dream" fics that I have read, so I owe all those authors a debt. It's not in my normal style; I was experimenting. I adore this fandom but haven't written anything in it before, so I'd appreciate any feedback that comes to mind!

^^V^^

John groans when he feels a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. He squeezes his eyes shut; he does not need to open them to know who it is. "Go away, Sherlock."

To his credit, Sherlock only wakes him for good reasons. He senses his flatmate standing nearby, but Sherlock offers no instructions or requests.

Curious, and despite his better judgment, John opens his eyes. His room is not exactly dark. His curtains are thin, and the ambient light from the street casts Sherlock's face in shades of gray. Sherlock is shirtless and in boxers, so John assumes Sherlock is not here about a case, or he would be dressed. In the dim light, Sherlock looks troubled.

"John," Sherlock begins, and his haughty tone is present, but it lacks his usual conviction. "How do you feel about personal space?"

Sighing, John rubs the sleep from his eyes but does not move to sit up. "Sherlock, what time is it?"

"Irrelevant. I have an urgent need to know your opinion."

"Fine. Why couldn't this wait? Is it for a case? Or an experiment?"

"A thought experiment, of sorts. But it's also intended to be a personal question."

That gets his attention. Sherlock never asks personal questions about John unless there is some other purpose, usually a case. He feels a ridiculously fluffy warmth inside him at the idea of Sherlock's being curious about him, even if it is for an experiment. "Oh. That's . . . fine. Good, even."

"So?"

"Right, personal space. Well I guess it serves a purpose."

"Explain."

"Oh, people like to have rules. You can't tell if someone's being rude or flirting with you if strangers are allowed to stand right next to you regardless of their intentions. It's a way to communicate."

"Other cultures do not have such a taxing requirement of personal space, and they communicate just as effectively."

"I imagine other cultures have different ways to be rude or polite."

"So you think it's arbitrary but useful."

"Yes. You could learn this from a book, you know. Or the Internet."

"I am aware of the current sociological and anthropological theories. My inquiry is about your opinion. And your feelings." Sherlock wrinkles his nose as he says that last word, as if it is beneath him even to talk about emotions.

"Well, I guess I agree with the authorities on the subject."

"A hypothetical."

"Alright," John says, but he yawns.

"Suppose you and another person agree to alter society's arbitrary rules about personal space."

"You mean in a way that breaks the rules, but they decide what they want it to mean?"

"Precisely, John." Sherlock sounds pleased that John has understood, and John feels elated to hear the approval in Sherlock's deep voice.

"Alright, I'm supposing it."

"Do you think you would be able to be comfortable, or do you think societal rules would be too ingrained to overcome the meaning attached to the actions?"

John stretched his legs out and tried to decipher that question. He was tired, and he looked over at the clock. "God, Sherlock, it's three in the morning."

"Obviously. My question?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I'd have to try it to find out. And it'd depend on the circumstances and the context." He narrows his eyes, belatedly suspicious. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

Sherlock shifts his weight to his left. The movement is small, but John has acquired observation skills of his own since he moved in with the detective. The minute fidgeting means Sherlock is unsure and that his damnable confidence is a facade. "I had a nightmare," Sherlock says, looking away.

This is not surprising news. Sometimes, when Sherlock falls asleep on the sofa, John sees him twitch and whimper. Usually John does nothing; he does not know whether his touch or even his compassion would be welcome. The way Sherlock is standing at his bedside reminds John of nothing more than a child asking if he can sleep with his parents after having a bad dream. Sherlock's questions about personal space start to make more sense.

"Sherlock," he says, careful not to sound amused or judgmental, "Would you feel better if you slept in here with me?"

"Would you mind conducting an experiment to determine whether it makes you uncomfortable?"

"No. I wouldn't mind."

Instead of saying "thank you" like a normal person, Sherlock walks around the foot of the bed and climbs in the other side without further comment. John realizes that he is cold only when Sherlock's body heat begins to warm him.

John looks over at his flatmate, who is curled into a fetal position with his back to John. "Sherlock?"

"Hm."

"Is it the pool? In your nightmares."

John is shocked when Sherlock shudders violently and hugs himself tightly. "Yes," Sherlock whispers, his voice almost inaudible. John rolls over so that he is in the same position as Sherlock. If he moved a foot closer, they would be spooning. They lie together, not touching, for a while.

John is almost asleep again when he hears Sherlock clear his throat. "I pull you from the water. In my dream. I try to bring you back to life. I breathe for you and pump your heart, but you just lie there. I wake up cold with the taste of chlorine in my mouth. Sometimes I don't remember it's a dream. Sometimes I think you really are dead before I remember that you're the one who pulled _me_ from the water, not the other way around."

John's heart clenches. He has assumed the dreams were about Sherlock's near-death experience, not John's. He wants to reach out and caress Sherlock's shoulders and back, but he does not know if it is allowed or even if it would help. His flatmate does not seem to be a tactile person, unlike John. "How can I help?" he asks because it seems a sensible way to find out the answer, particularly since Sherlock manages to have the most awkward conversations without embarrassment.

Sherlock shrugs. "This helps. It's warm. And I don't have to rush to your room to see if you're alive."

John feels an overwhelming urge to hug Sherlock him and tell him that he has the most beautiful heart of anyone John has ever met. That seems a bit personal, though, even under these circumstances. "Sherlock, while we're experimenting with personal space and all . . . I have a suggestion."

"Please, suggest it."

"Would you mind if I held you?"

Sherlock is quiet a moment, and John is about to retract his request when Sherlock nods. "We should try it and see."

John scoots closer to his flatmate and drapes one arm across Sherlock's chest. Too late, he remembers that Sherlock is not wearing a shirt, and his hand brushes against a few stray chest hairs. Sherlock's skin is smooth and warm. John waits for Sherlock to tense up or pull away, but instead Sherlock moves back to close the distance between them. John's bare chest presses against Sherlock's back. It feels wonderful.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Fine," Sherlock replies. His voice is soft and slow, and John has heard this particular tone only once or twice, when Sherlock is being careful about John's feelings. "You are bisexual."

John exhales quietly, stifling his laughter so that it's just a single, quiet huff. He wants to be careful about Sherlock's feelings, too. "Sherlock, please don't tell me you deduced that from the state of my knees."

"I noticed where your gaze falls when you observe attractive people of either sex," Sherlock clarifies. "Your knees served as mere confirmation."

"Naturally." John can't help but smile. "You're right, of course. You're always right. What about it, then?"

"You know that I'm gay. Recently you have been wondering if I've noticed your sexual orientation, especially since you have been dating women exclusively, except for that bloke you met last week and didn't tell me about. It seems fair to let you know that I know. We are in bed together, after all."

John considers pointing out that "not really my area" is not as unequivocal "I am gay," but he decides against it. He figures that Sherlock has just been very unequivocal, so it works out the same in the end. "Seems sensible enough."

"Also, I find you very attractive."

John blinks. "Oh." He blushes, and even though Sherlock is facing the other direction, John is sure that Sherlock can tell.

"Full disclosure is prudent. I have no desire to see this situation get awkward due to a lack of communication."

John smiles because Sherlock can't tell that it is already awkward, and somehow refusing to recognize embarrassment diminishes it. "Well. Thanks for telling me. I'm, uh, rather attracted to you, too. Very, actually." Mercifully, sheer mortification has prevented him from becoming hard.

"I know."

"Of course you do."

Sherlock's hand finds his and intertwines their fingers.

"Thank you," Sherlock says after a while. "For permitting this."

"Anytime."

"Really? Do you think this experiment should be repeated?"

John squeezes Sherlock's hand, savoring the feel of the detective's delicate fingers against his own. "I have nightmares, too."

"Yes. You wake up from them screaming sometimes."

John is not surprised that Sherlock has noticed, but he does not expect the gentle concern in Sherlock's voice. "I'm just saying that I understand. I . . . well, I like being held. After them. Or during them. So if you want to sleep in here, it's fine with me. All the time or just after you wake up from one, whatever you want. It's all fine."

"Could I hold you if you have a nightmare?"

"I'd like that."

Sherlock nods. "Good. It's settled then."

"Right. So. For the sake of the experiment. What meaning should we attach to this?" John pulls Sherlock closer to indicate what he means by _this_.

"That comforting another person should not be so damned complicated."

"Works for me."

He watches Sherlock for a while. Finally, John relaxes and allows himself to breathe in Sherlock's scent. He smells like Bunsen burners, morning fog, and shampoo. As he drifts off to sleep he feels pleased, if a bit puzzled.

^^V^^

-end-


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